Chapter 435
I froze in the doorway. Dallas stood over the hospital bed, his broad back to me, tossing a thick leather-bound folder onto Braydon’s lap.
“The deed to Moonstone Creek Valley.” Dallas’s voice was a glacial, unforgiving rumble. “The most fertile land in the territories, rich in rare healing herbs. It belongs to the Hyde Pack now. The blood-debt is paid in full. You will never contact my wife again.”
Before I could even process the sheer magnitude of what Dallas was surrendering, Braydon’s eyes flicked to me. A dark, triumphant gleam flashed across his pale face. Slowly, deliberately, he picked up the priceless contract and tore it in half.
The sound of ripping paper was deafening in the quiet room.
“I don’t want your land,” Braydon spat, his voice dripping with contempt. He looked past Dallas, locking his gaze on me. “You are a broken Alpha, Dallas. A cold king who can’t even warm his own wife’s heart. I would gladly give up my ability to shift forever if it meant keeping her safe. You just try to buy your way out of feeling anything.”
I stepped forward, my chest tight with sudden, blinding confusion. “Dallas, what are you doing?”
Dallas turned, his jaw clenched so tight a muscle ticked in his cheek. His gray-black eyes met mine, swirling with a violent mix of Lycan possessiveness and something that looked dangerously like panic. But he said nothing.
Braydon let out a weak, ragged cough and sank deeper into his pillows. “In his eyes, Adella, my legs and your life are worth only a valley.”
The words pierced my chest like a silver-laced blade. As a former wolfless girl who had been treated as a bargaining chip her entire life, the idea of my life — and Braydon’s sacrifice — being reduced to a real estate transaction made my stomach turn. I looked at my husband, my voice trembling with disappointment. “This isn’t a transaction, Dallas.”
Dallas’s lips parted. I could feel the chaotic storm of his emotions — the desperate need to protect me, the crushing weight of his Alpha pride, the absolute refusal to admit that another male’s claim on my conscience terrified him. But the words wouldn’t come. His pride formed an impenetrable wall.
He stared at me for one long, agonizing second, his eyes darkening with profound hurt. Then, without a single word, he turned and walked out of the room, the heavy door clicking shut behind him.
The silence he left behind felt like abandonment.
An hour later, I was summoned.
I hadn’t even had time to process the ache in my chest before I found myself standing in Gigi’s private study back at Marshall Tower. The room was a fortress of dark mahogany, smelling of old books, expensive leather, and the undeniable, oppressive weight of her authority.
Gigi sat behind her massive desk, watching me the way a queen studies a flawed piece on her chessboard.
“You are a fool, Adella,” she said, her voice slicing cleanly through the silence.
I stiffened. “He tried to buy my conscience, Gigi. He put a price tag on —”